


Punch and Pain

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, None - Freeform, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Problems are tearing Jim and Blair apart. Can they fix the friendship that used to mean so much to both of them?<br/>This story is set around TSbyBS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch and Pain

## Punch and Pain

by Terri

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/turps33uk/>

Don't belong to me, guess you all know that.

I'd like to thank my beta readers. Alex, my main lady, my alpha beta. Mary Ellen who gave me the title, great suggestions and made me laugh at my own mistakes and Starwatcher, who's patiently teaching me to be a better writer. Thanks ladies, I owe you all.   
I've added more since they saw this story, so any mistakes are my own.

I welcome any feedback, even negative, as long as it's constructive.

* * *

_"The only thing that we don't do together is fuck!"_

Eyes widened as the shock of that statement sank into a whirling mind, hands freezing inches away from a clenched fist. The hands that had intended to calm were now useless as those words erupted from the tight-lipped mouth of Jim Ellison. 

Blair let his hands drop to his side, his natural instinct to touch deserting him as the harsh words registered, causing a pain that twisted deep inside. How had it come to this? A petty argument escalating as accusations and half-truths were thrown, hurts exposed and gouged on both sides until this final statement stopped both men in their tracks. 

Blair knew that sometimes he crowded Jim, both physically and mentally. Jim must feel that he always wanted answers, or had some test that needed doing. Hell, at times he even found himself plastered against a broad back if Jim stopped unexpectedly. It was what he did to keep Jim safe and happy. Always ready for backup, either in the field or with personal issues. Never had he thought that Jim resented him as much as he obviously did. Never had he thought that Jim only tolerated his presence. They had been friends; the camping trips, concerned touches, favours done on both sides had proven that. When had that changed? When had friendship changed into -- what had Jim called it? *'A cloying relationship that was balanced totally on Blair's side'.* 

Could it really be true that the only thing that they didn't do together was fuck? All these thoughts swept through his head in the short time it took to drop his hands and attempt to look Jim in the eyes. Blair let his own eyes fall when he saw that Jim was staring at the yellow chair as if it were a dangerous perp. Blair noted the clenched jaw, and Jim's hands were clutching his keys so hard that they would surely never be straight again. 

"What do you want me to say Sandburg? I never meant to say this stuff, but maybe it's for the best. I just need some space you know; we do everything together, it all gets to be too much sometimes. Like I said, all we don't do together...." 

Blair felt his own hands clench as he braced himself for those hurtful words; surely Jim wouldn't be so cruel as to say them again? 

"...is fuck. I suppose you wouldn't say no to that either. You've always had an unhealthy interest in my sex life; maybe you want to see for yourself." 

"Okay that's too much man. You've gone too far now." Blair's movements were tight and hurried as he turned towards the door, which still seemed to vibrate after their angry entrance. 

"I can see why you think I crowd you. I'm sorry for that, but I won't stay here to be your personal punching bag. I care about you man, but if you can't or won't see that, it's your problem, not mine." 

Stooping to pull his backpack onto his shoulder, Blair headed towards the door. "I think we need a break for a while. I'll be in touch soon, I promise, but this can't go on; can't you see that we're pulling ourselves apart?" 

As he prepared to walk out he lifted an unsteady hand towards Jim, unwilling to leave without a goodbye. 

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass." 

The tone told him everything. Jim had no anger left in his voice; he had no emotion at all as he stood facing the chair, eyes cold and distant. Blair could have coped with anything but this \-- anger, sadness, even sarcasm would have given him something to fight against -- but this emotionless state showed exactly how much he meant to his partner now. Absolutely nothing. Blair turned without another glance, feeling his heart freeze as he closed the door. Behind him, Jim didn't even move a muscle. 

When Jim heard the door close, he finally looked away from the chair. He felt numb, stunned that a petty fight had escalated to such an extent. The ease with which the hurtful words erupted showed him more about his relationship with Sandburg than any intense reflection would. 'Relationship'. Yeah right; they hadn't had one of those for a long time. Sure they lived together, they talked, ate and sometimes goofed off together, but was that a relationship? Somehow he didn't think it was enough. 

A slight pain reminded him that once again he was clenching his keys too tight. As he looked at his hands he noticed key-shaped indentions in a reddened palm. The marks fascinated him; he could see blood rush under the skin, through tiny capillaries, so easily broken. Recognising the danger of such scrutiny, he threw the keys abruptly into the basket; he hadn't zoned in years and had no intentions of doing so now. 

Keys safely stored, he decided to carry on with his usual routine. So Blair had left; he hadn't wanted him to, but he was a grown man, he could cope with being alone. In fact, that was probably exactly what he needed -- space, and time to do his own thing. He could eat what he wanted, watch what he wanted, phone and see whomever he liked. He simply pushed away the voice in his mind that said that Blair was what he wanted. 

Placing his damp coat on the hook, Jim decided that a night of doing just what he wanted was exactly what he needed. A night with no roommate would be perfect -- no one asking if he was okay, or wanting to talk all the time. Just the fact he could turn around and Blair simply wouldn't be _there_ was enough to make a grim smile appear. 

Jim turned towards the loft stairs, deciding that first on the agenda was to get comfortable; old jeans, and a comfy sweatshirt would be perfect. As he opened his closet, sentinel eyes scanned quickly over his clothing, all hung neatly together in color-coded groups. No one could ever say that he didn't organize efficiently; _he_ would never just throw his clothes in messy piles on the nearest surface. Jim had a system, one that would let him know what clothes were available within seconds. 

Jim aimed for a favourite sweater and slowly removed his hand as the absence of said garment registered in his mind. There was a gap where it should have been; sighing, he cast his mind back to the last time he had seen it. Irritation began to surface again as he realised that had been over a month ago, when Sandburg had said he was cold. They had just come home from a night stakeout that had left his partner shivering as they returned to the loft. 

Blair had burrowed in the basket of clean clothes, triumphantly holding the sweatshirt aloft, then pulling it over his night-damp clothes. The fact that it was too big wasn't important; it was warm, and that's all that mattered to his cold-blooded roommate. That was just before Naomi arrived and plunged them all into chaos. Surely it wouldn't be too much trouble to launder and return it to his closet. He didn't think he asked that much of Blair; returning clothes was just a common courtesy -- one that Sandburg apparently didn't have. 

Quickly selecting pale blue jeans and a t-shirt Jim hurried downstairs, determined to retrieve his belongings from the rattrap that Sandburg called a room. 

It was worse than Jim had imagined; clothes were everywhere. Books stacked in piles, blankets rumpled and trailing on the floor. He didn't even want to think what the green scum was in the cup that sat on the shelf above the bed. The mess was an offence to Jim's ordered mind, and the urge to just dump everything into trash bags and throw all of it out of the window was practically overwhelming. He gave the kid a home, put up with his questions, the comments about Blair at work, endless chatter, tolerated the smell of incense, herbs and algae shakes. The least Sandburg could do was keep his room clean. He was a slob as well as suffocating. Slamming the door shut in irritation, Jim stalked into the kitchen, wondering why he had thought that he and Blair could ever be more than friends. 

*'More than friends'? Fuck where did _that_ come from?* He didn't see Blair that way did he? He was his roommate, nothing more. What the hell was his subconscious trying to tell him? Brow creased in confusion, Jim snagged a beer from the fridge and wandered towards the balcony. The anger that he'd been feeling for the last half hour was ebbing away, leaving only puzzlement that two supposedly adult men could tear themselves apart over so little. Jim had never been a man drawn to self-reflection -- Blair could analyse him enough without his own input -- but now he leaned against the glass doors determined to discover why Sandburg had been annoying him so much lately. It had to be more than guilt; he just didn't know what. 

Backlit against a setting sun, Jim Ellison looked like a Sentinel of old, watching over his tribe as night began to draw in. He stood unmoving, a silent dark shadow in a room devoid of life, a home missing the laughter of two people who used to be great friends -- two people who had loved one another in a simple, uncomplicated way. Now it was Jim's task to try to discover why that had changed. He was determined to succeed, no matter how long it took. 

~0~0~0~ 

**ONE WEEK PREVIOUSLY**

Blair felt his whole body begin to tighten with tension as he hurried along the corridor to the restrooms. Good-natured catcalls and friendly words rang in his ears, and he could still feel the chill of the detective's badge in his hand. His whole face ached with the effort of smiling. His mom, Jim, Megan, Simon -- all people he liked and, in some cases, loved -- how could they have gotten it so wrong? 

How much more of himself would he have to give to guarantee Jim's safety? Blair had lost his reputation, his job and many of his friends after the press conference. Now he'd lost part of his soul as well. He'd never wanted to be a cop. Sure he loved the adrenaline rush of Jim's work, but that was on a part-time basis. He could never leave his feelings at the door; Jim knew that. Well, he thought he'd known that. With this stunt, Jim had proven that he didn't know much at all. 

Blair checked to make sure no one was following, then barged into the men's room, numbly walking to the nearest sink. His whole body sagged as he slumped against the counter, shaking hands holding up his head. When he risked a look in the mirror, he saw the face of a familiar stranger -- someone who looked like him, yet also didn't. Blair imagined that he could see 'Blair the cop' transposed over 'Blair the anthropologist'. It was a change that scared him, a change he didn't want. Yet what could he do, except join the academy, give yet more of himself away? As he felt the grasping fingers of a panic attack begin to tighten on his soul, Blair scrunched his eyes shut and began to chant softly. 

"I can do this, I can do this." 

Morally, Blair knew he was right, but what good were morals when his car was vandalised with 'Fraud' and 'Liar' scratched across the hood? Knowing he had done the right thing didn't help when former friends crossed the street to avoid him, or when conversations stopped if he walked into a room. Sure, most of Major Crimes knew he was no fraud, but that was such a tiny counterbalance to the others who thought he deserved everything he got, and went out of their way to tell him so. 

Blatant shoves in the PD corridors, anonymous e-mails that spewed venom, vicious phone calls that filled countless tapes had soon combined to bring Blair to his knees. He knew that he couldn't continue to live his life as he had this last week, living in the shadows, distant from everyone around him. But what was he supposed to do? Make a decision that would affect the rest of his life in a split second with all his friends watching? 

He'd smiled, hedging desperately by saying he wouldn't cut his hair, yet he knew that was only a momentary distraction. They expected him to say yes, be pleased to join the hallowed halls of the police department. Damn, even his mom had stood there smiling as that shield was given to him. The detective's shield, a thing of pride to most, representing all that was good. Truth, justice, and the god damned fucking American way. But all it represented to Blair was a brand, proclaiming that once again he had given a piece of himself to another. 

Blair resisted the urge to smash the mirror with his bare hands and prepared to walk back to Major Crime, before Jim came to see what was wrong. He'd had his five minutes alone; it was time to rejoin the party. 

~0~0~0~ 

As he examined his partner's face, Jim had the feeling that he had thoroughly fucked up somehow. Over the last few days he'd convinced himself that Sandburg would want to attend the Academy. Hell, even Naomi had agreed. He never again wanted to watch Blair wither. He'd tried to ease Blair's pain in small ways -- erasing tapes of abuse on the answering machine, offering to accompany him to Rainier when Sandburg emptied his office, intercepting the mail before the crank letters could be read. Yet it wasn't enough, couldn't be enough. Jim had thought that getting Blair into the Academy was a practical idea, had thought so up until he'd just watched Sandburg walk to the restroom as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

As he observed the dejected gait, Jim realized that Blair had just acted the scene of his life. He'd smiled in all the right places, made all the right noises, yet looking at him now it was obvious that the Academy was the last place Sandburg wanted to go. Jim knew that he should have been sorry for putting Blair in the position of having to say yes, and he was, a little. But to his surprise he also felt a small spark of anger. 

After all, Sandburg had put _his_ future on the line with the diss; it would have been _him_ that was treated as some kind of freak. Blair should have changed the names well before Naomi had the chance to send the manuscript. Yeah he'd solved that by calling his work a piece of fiction -- which resulted in Blair being banned from Rainier -- but then Jim had solved Blair's employment problem by getting him into the Academy. In return, Blair looked as if his whole world had just been destroyed. 

Pushing aside his own guilt Jim, decided that it hurt too much to think about things like that; he'd done his bit and fixed the problem. If Sandburg couldn't appreciate that, it was tough. 

~0~0~0~ 

Anyone observing Blair in the next few weeks would say that he was feeling better. His face wasn't as pale, his hair shone and he hurried 'round Cascade with his old battered backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder. To the casual observer he was no different from the person prior to the press conference -- happy, talkative, even excited about joining the Academy. He'd even convinced Naomi to leave, with a promise that she'd return for his graduation. 

Only Jim saw how his act slipped as he walked into the safe territory of the loft, how eyes became shadowed and shoulders slumped from the strain of presenting a strong front to the world. But even in the loft, the act would be resumed if Blair noticed Jim watching him; he'd pull a smile from deep inside, one that Jim would return -- even though he noticed that it never made it to Blair's eyes. 

If Blair wanted to keep his distance, Jim wouldn't press him. It was too painful to think about the misery that lurked under the surface sparkle, too hard to know that his best friend still hurt and there was no way he could fix it. Instead they focused on the normal things, Jags games, dinner, everything that was bland and safe. 

Deep conversation was distressing, and Jim didn't want to hurt anymore. He didn't want his heart to clench every time he heard soft tears from the shower, or saw the piles of anthropology texts hidden under blankets in Blair's room. Soon it became easy just to mostly ignore Sandburg; what he couldn't see couldn't hurt, right? He should have been ashamed at how easy it was to focus on the resentment he felt at Blair's obvious misery, how easy to build up walls that separated him from his friend. Day by day those walls became stronger and higher, and Jim lost all interest in trying to solve the problems that they obviously shared. 

~0~0~0~ 

A Few Days Later 

Body heavy with fatigue, Blair stepped from the elevator towards the loft door. His backpack lay leaden against his shoulders, crammed with enrolment forms and pamphlets -- all duplicated in triplicate -- to be filled in before he could join the Academy in a month's time. Jim may have pushed his application through, but there were still a thousand and one forms that had to be completed before he could officially become a cadet. 

Funny how a few pounds of paper could affect him so much. It hadn't seemed official before, the idea that he would be a cop. It had seemed more like a nightmare that he tried to forget, but now with that full bag, the whole reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. He was really going to the Academy; there was no other option that he could see. 

Feeling the familiar pall of depression begin to cover him, Blair pushed into the loft, hoping that Jim would be there so they could chat, maybe drink some beer and talk over all his worries. 

"Jim man, you here?" 

"Where else would I be Chief?" 

"I don't know, you don't seem to spend all that much time here anymore; you're either at the station or out with friends." 

"What's the matter Sandburg, can't I go out with people apart from you? I do have other friends you know." 

"Yeah I'm down with that, it's just that I wanted --" 

"What? What do you want now?" 

Blair paused, looking at the imposing figure in front of him. Jim seemed cast in stone, all sharp planes and unmovable body. He wasn't even looking at him as they talked, not that in all honesty this could be called a 'talk'. This was an exchange of words, nothing else; the ability to 'talk' seemed to have deserted them not long after Blair was told he could eventually become Jim's partner. Since then they seemed to have been at cross-purposes, neither willing to ask why this unusual awkwardness had descended on them. 

Looking at Jim again, at the total disinterest that he projected, Blair gave up yet again, and snagged his backpack from where he had dropped it on the floor. 

"It doesn't matter, really it's okay, I'll just do this in my room then make dinner, if that's okay?" 

"Do what you want Chief, I've eaten already. Now I'm going to watch the game, so no annoying mood music, right?" 

Feeling his gut clench, Blair watched as Jim grabbed a beer and settled down on the couch to watch a game, any game. He looked far from comfortable as he stared intently at the TV, his whole body screaming 'I want to be alone'. 

Sadly dipping his eyes, Blair could hardly believe that only weeks ago he would have joined Jim on that couch with no second thoughts. He would have pressed his cold feet into a warm side and laughed as his roommate mock-snarled at him. That time was ended now though, destroyed along with his hopes and dreams of academic aspirations. The diss and the sentinel seemed to be so closely woven together that when one collapsed the other did also. 

Sighing under his breath, he walked into his room, resigned to filling in tedious documents for the next few hours. He pulled out the pile, placed the forms on his bed, then pushed aside a stack of books on his desk to start the mind-numbing task. Each completed application moved him further from the man he had aspired to be, and pushed him closer towards Cadet Sandburg, a person that he had never thought of being. 

~0~0~0~ 

Staring at the TV, Jim sighed softly as he heard the door to Blair's room click shut. Once again he'd managed to alienate Sandburg. It seemed that they couldn't even be in a room for a minute before some petty argument broke out. He'd known that Blair wanted to chat, could see on Sandburg's pinched face that he needed to sit and talk through the hassles that came with joining the Academy. 

Just a few short weeks ago they would have drunk cool beers from the fridge and talked together on the couch. Well, Blair would have talked and Jim would have listened and commented where important, but now he couldn't even look at Sandburg without feeling guilty. There was no reason for that -- Jim wasn't so self-unaware that he didn't know that the guilt was both unwarranted and unneeded -- but still, the feeling overcame him every time he saw Sandburg. 

He hated that, so he'd decided that the only way to avoid the feeling was to avoid the source. This meant that Jim spent as much time as possible away from the loft -- at the PD, out with friends, at the gym. Then when he was at home, the atmosphere was so bad that he'd do anything to keep himself busy. The floors shone with new wax, walls were covered in fresh paint, cupboards were reorganized -- but it was never enough. As long as Blair lived there, Jim knew he would feel guilty around him, but Blair moving out just wasn't an option. 

So they lived together in an atmosphere that worsened with every day -- Blair talking like crazy to fill ominous silences, he quiet and sullen. Everything Blair said or did was beginning to grate on Jim, but he seemed unable to find the words that he knew would start the healing process. He wanted to be back where they were before, he wanted the friendship back, the ease that two so different men had forged together; but as the days passed slowly it seemed as if that time was relegated to the history books. Sentinel and Guide, Cop and Anthropologist, Jim and Blair were no more, leaving only two individuals who seemed unable to recover from others' mistakes, sustaining a tragedy that seemed unfixable. 

~0~0~0~ 

Blair couldn't watch as the car was driven away by its new owner. He loved that car. After his Corvair was trashed he'd thought that nothing would take its place, but this little Volvo had been good to him. He'd spent time and money on making her as good as she could be, but now -- like everything else -- that was at an end. It had taken him a few weeks before he'd admitted to himself that a car was a luxury that he just couldn't afford now that he was unemployed, but it was time to face facts. 

Gas and insurance were cutting into the little money that he had left, until he realised that he just couldn't do it anymore. He could either have a car or pay his rent, and Jim was simply more important; there was no question about that. But picking up the phone and selling her had been the hardest thing he'd done in a while. Funny -- in terms of the diss fiasco this was nothing, but that didn't stop the tears from trying to escape when he sneaked a last look as his prized possession was driven round the corner of Prospect. 

It seemed that all the things that made him unique were floating away in the breeze, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop them disappearing. Rubbing his eyes harshly, Blair turned back to go upstairs. Now all he had to do was tell Jim that he'd sold his car -- something that he wasn't looking forward to at all. 

~0~0~0~ 

Jim couldn't believe that Blair had sold that car. Sure he used to rib him about it, but the thing was reasonably reliable, always got Blair to where he wanted to go and -- most important -- Sandburg loved it. How could he have sold it? Surely he couldn't be that hard up for money? 

But when he really thought about it, he had the feeling that Blair _may_ have been that hard up. Jim hadn't seen him buy any of the minor luxuries that he used to -- tea, strange meats -- just little things that weren't on the main shopping list. Not that he'd taken much interest in what Blair was actually doing; as long as the groceries were bought and the loft chores kept up to date, Jim hadn't really bothered with specifics. 

Thinking back, he groaned as he realised that Blair must have been down to the last dollar in his checking account, just so he could buy the stuff that Jim requested in his notes. Notes -- he hadn't even asked him to buy the stuff in person, finding it easier to list what they needed and leave the loft before Blair woke up. What kind of friend was he that he hadn't noticed Blair struggling to survive financially? But then, why hadn't Sandburg asked him for help? He would have taken no rent for a while, bought all the day to day things until Sandburg was receiving a pay check again. That's what friends did. 

That was it though; friends did that, not people who danced around each other. So whose fault was this? Was it his that the Volvo had to be sold; should he have noticed how broke Blair was? Could he have prevented it? Maybe he could, but at that moment Jim was sick of the guilt that haunted him when he thought of what he _could_ have done. He was tired of thinking about Sandburg, about how he was manoeuvred into attending the Academy. Sick of the lurch his heart gave when he saw how unhappy Blair was, sick of pretending that everything was fine when it was so obviously wasn't. In fact Jim was just sick of everything, and that included Sandburg. 

~0~0~0~ 

Blair and Jim drove round Cascade all day, searching for someone who would admit to knowing Thomas Brebant, a local dealer who had recently turned up dead in a dumpster. It had been a miserable day, grey and misty, with rain that spotted on and off, never really stopping, just easing into a mist that could soak in minutes. Jim was in a foul mood, irritated with everything and everyone, including himself. 

All day, it seemed that it took Jim an immense effort even to be polite to members of the public; on many occasions Blair noticed what control it took the detective to ask questions in an official and polite manner. Sitting in the truck in between interviews was hell; such a thick silence would descend that Blair would do anything to cut it. He talked about every obscure fact that he could think of, voice babbling like a swollen brook, unable to stop the uncontrollable torrent of words. 

With every word Jim seemed to retreat more, jaw clenching in spasms, hands keeping a death grip on the steering wheel. Blair knew that Jim was pissed, but couldn't stop talking if his life depended on it. He longed to jump from the truck -- anything to escape the suffocating atmosphere -- yet knew he couldn't. Jim hadn't told him to stop coming out on jobs with him, even though his credentials had been officially revoked. Simon had turned a blind eye, knowing that in a few weeks Sandburg would be official anyway. Blair wasn't about to skip this chance to be with Jim. They might be as far apart as enemies, and sometimes he might catch Jim looking at him with expressions ranging between pain, guilt and -- most commonly now -- barely-contained hostility, but he wouldn't give up on this friendship so easily. 

As they approached the PD, Jim just knew that his head would explode if Sandburg didn't shut up soon. He was tired and damp after interviewing countless people who -- of course -- didn't know Brebant. Jim's eyes felt full of grit and his sinuses stuffed with cotton; he was miserable, his leg ached and the constant chattering didn't help. Jim was relieved that they were finished for the day. When he dropped off his notes at Major Crime, all he had to do was meet with Simon then return home... no not home, the loft. It hadn't been home for a while now. 

Of course he would have to endure the sneering, pitying remarks of his colleges first, the quiet whispered comments that he always overheard every time he was seen with Sandburg. *'How could he stay with that hippy after what he did? Did you hear what Ellison was supposed to be? Who did he think he was, super-cop?'* Every comment would be delivered with either mockery or pity. Jim would ignore it -- he planned to stalk through the PD eyes front, avoiding anyone who appeared in his line of sight, daring anyone to accost him. The comments didn't hurt anymore -- after hearing variations of the same theme he was pretty much immune -- but just knowing that he was talked about was enough to make his blood boil. Jim slammed the truck's door and grabbed Blair by the arm, then physically hauled him to the nearest elevator and pressed the button for Major Crime. He'd see Simon, dump his notes and get the fuck home, and nothing better get in his way. 

~0~0~0~ 

Seven minutes, that's all it had taken. Two to run up the stairs to Major Crime, three to give Simon the notes, then two more to get back to his truck. One look at Jim's face made most people hurry to get out of his way, giving him space to stride through the PD, determined to get home as soon as possible. 

"Will you hurry up Sandburg, I want to get home sometime today you know." 

Blair, hurrying behind Jim, remained silent. He kept his head down, ignoring the stares of people that they passed. He felt physically and mentally drained, only wanting to reach the safe haven of his room. 

Reaching the garage, Jim hurried to his truck and climbed in. He started the engine before Blair could even take his seat, then he sped from the garage, causing Blair to fall heavily against the window. All Jim wanted to do was get home, have a beer and watch some mindnumbing television. If he was lucky Blair might go out, or at least be silent in his room. Thank God Blair was quiet now; Jim seriously thought that if his roommate said one more thing today he would do something drastic. His temper was on the edge, and it wouldn't take much to push him over. One wrong word and that would be it, total meltdown. 

From the side, Jim could see Blair casting quick looks in his direction, obviously deciding to break the silence again. 

"So Jim, you going out tonight..." 

~0~0~0~ 

**PRESENT TIME**

Breath hitching, Blair hurried down the stairs, too angry to wait for the elevator. His backpack banged against his spine at every downward step, a dull thudding that contrasted sharply with the racing of his own heart. He didn't feel it though; he was so mad at Jim that any physical discomfort took a back seat. How could he have said that? He knew that he crowded Jim sometimes, but that was what he had to do to keep his Sentinel safe. Jim did plenty on his own; he went to the station alone sometimes didn't he? Stopping to brush unruly curls from his eyes Blair sighed at the faint rain that still drizzled. *Great, just what I need, more dampness.* 

Blair needed to understand why his relationship with Jim had begun to disintegrate. He knew that the diss disaster was the catalyst of all this, but even before then things had been going bad. It had started slowly at first -- no more friendly talks -- then silence where once there was laughter. Indifference finally led to anger and recriminations that lay just under the surface, ready to erupt and hurt with the slightest wrong word. 

Blair's whole body was tight with suppressed emotion as he walked hurriedly down the street. He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling increasingly chilled as the adrenaline rush of the fight wore off. Above him the sun sank majestically between huge clusters of grey rain clouds. Normally, the observer in him would have delighted in this show. Now, all Blair wanted to do was find somewhere dry and warm, somewhere he could lick the wounds that his former best friend had inflicted. 

Blair was cold, damp, hungry and more heartsick than he could ever remember being. When Maya had left him that first time, he'd thought that his heart was broken. How wrong could he have been? That had been nothing in comparison to what he felt now. Blair remembered once telling Jim that it was about friendship. Yeah, right; friendship wasn't supposed to hurt like this, like a million tiny needles striking at his soul. Before his friendship with Jim he might have packed up and left many months ago -- 'detaching with love' as Naomi would say \-- but like a fool he had tried his damnedest to heal the rift that seemed to widen every day. 

He had worked to keep a slender bridge of friendship between him and Jim -- even though it took a lot of effort that seemed awfully one-sided -- until tonight Jim had smashed that bridge with the cruellest words he could utter. He had thrown Blair's friendship back in his face, and that had hurt. 

"Get serious man, who the hell do I think I'm kidding here?" 

The man that Blair had addressed his comment to looked at him as if he was insane and hurried away from the wild-eyed lunatic. 

*Okay that was smart; if you get sudden personal revelations remember to keep them to yourself next time.* Blair was used to talking to himself in his mind; a lifetime of solitude in one form or another meant that he was his own best counsel. At the moment he was screaming at himself that the reason that Jim's comment hurt so much was that he had destroyed any hope he had that they could ever be more than friends. 

'More than friends'; what the fuck did that mean anyway? He loved Jim, he'd known that for a long time, but what kind of love did he mean now? The love of a brother, a special friend... or a potential lover. Shit, that was it, wasn't it? He loved Jim in the sexual sense, he wanted him, wanted to wake in his bed, caress his body, do things that he'd only seen in books. That kind of love. 

"But Jim's a man." 

This time his self-dialogue attracted no attention. No one looked at the frozen man who stood unmoving in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide, hands clutching his coat together like a safety blanket. 

So Jim was a man; he'd never discriminated by gender before. He could appreciate a handsome guy, had even casually dated men when he was younger. But love -- long term -- was a completely separate matter. Could he do this, love another man? Blair loved Jim, that was an absolute truth; but was he prepared to enter a gay relationship, one that -- hopefully -- would be long term? 

Then again, would he get the chance to even try? Jim and he were so far apart at the moment that a conversation without bickering was a triumph. Could he even justify trying to build a relationship with such rocky foundations? 

It was a lot to think of for one cold damp anthropologist, but that's what he did best right? Think, he could think about things for hours if he wanted to. Realising that he had reached the waterfront, Blair walked towards a bench that overlooked the docks, unable to think on his feet anymore. Sighing as his butt hit damp wood, he prepared to examine his own mind. Briefly a smile flitted across his face as he realised that most people made life-changing decisions on their own territory. Typical that Blair Sandburg's life might change on a cold damp night while he was sitting on a bench with an overflowing garbage can by his side. 

~0~0~0~ 

Only the fact that the loft was turning dark brought Jim out of his reflection. Limbs ached after staying still for so many hours -- especially the leg that had so recently taken a bullet -- and his stomach gurgled with emptiness. Two hours he had stood there, and all he knew for certain was that the thought of losing Blair was too much to bear. He loved him, he knew that, had loved him since a few months after Sandburg had moved in. Then again, he loved Simon as well, and he was sure that what he felt with him wasn't the same as the feelings he had for Blair. For one thing he could talk to Simon without bickering. These last few months, especially after their return from Sierra Verde, every conversation he had with Blair felt awkward and polite, every word weighed before he dared say it. Jim knew that Sandburg had noticed it; hell, he noticed everything. So he'd watched with detachment as Blair tried to mend something that neither would admit was broken. 

Nervous chatter from Blair and long silences from him accompanied their meals. Jim found that the sound of fingers drumming a beat on the tabletop drove him insane, while the sight of a long curly hair in the drain would make him grind his teeth with fury. Not that he would tell Blair to stop or clean up; he didn't trust himself to stay calm once he'd let his feelings free. 

Instead he'd bottled up every little transgression until it was an effort even to look at his roommate. They were both playing at being friends, still working and living together, but no one would ever know how hard the act was for both of them. The loft and truck had never been so clean as he took all his aggression out on cleaning. Nights were the worst as both sat in unhappy silence, Blair trying to fill the gaps with meaningless talk until inevitably he went to his room early. 

Jim sat at the table and held his head in his hands as he thought of how unhappy Blair had become. Sure he still smiled a lot -- not that that was saying much; the grim reaper would probably get a smile from Sandburg if he ever came for him. Blair's eyes were the key; they'd become clouded and empty, hinting at despair if anyone ever chose to look beyond the distracting smile. And he'd been the cause of that; so afraid of his own feelings that he was prepared to destroy the person who he loved the most. 

He was a fool, pure and simple. For his entire life, Jim had been taught to keep all emotions in check. First by a busy father who didn't have time to dedicate to a young boy, then by the army, an organisation that was built on crushing individuality for the good of the group. Then Peru, which had been a defining time of his life, followed by rescue, then his enrolment into yet another environment where emotions were kept in check -- the police force. 

He'd been a pain in the ass there, Jim knew that, but eventually Simon and Jack had started the process of making Jim into the man he was now. Of course it was Blair who had finished that process, making him sociable and happy for the first time in years. That was until the emotions started to overwhelm Jim and he protected himself by shutting himself off... and if by doing that Blair was hurt, that was a chance he was willing to take. 

Looking back now, it was obvious what he had been doing -- waiting for Blair to take that last step and leave for good. Jim had pushed and snipped until at last the thin veneer over their friendship had smashed, and he had flung those hurtful words at Blair. This last month had been filled with tension, knowing that Sandburg had sacrificed himself for him, yet he couldn't feel grateful. 

That sacrifice _had_ been needed -- it was the only way the potential devastating effect on Jim's life could be stopped once the manuscript had been sent. But Blair must have known that the diss was a disaster waiting to happen. Knowing that Sandburg would destroy his life for his friend put an incredible burden on Jim and he found himself starting to hate his partner for the unselfishness of his act. He felt in Blair's debt and he didn't like that at all. 

All of those hateful feeling had come pouring out this afternoon when Blair innocently asked where he was going tonight. It was the breaking point; he felt that Sandburg watched every aspect of his life, and to his shame he'd reacted in the most violent and crushing way possible. They'd both been cold and damp after questioning witnesses about Brebant all day, but that was no excuse for attacking Blair as he had. No excuse for physically chasing him up to the loft flinging accusations all the way. He had totally overreacted and now he was deeply ashamed. Jim just hoped that he would get the chance to put things right, as well as discover if he really did want Blair, or whether it was merely a confused message from his mixed up psyche. 

Jim groaned aloud as he remembered the shock in Blair's blue eyes, the hands that shot up both to calm and to provide a barrier between them. He couldn't believe that such an easy question had changed him into such a ranting bastard. At the time it seemed like the last straw, and he had continued to yell at Blair over every small mistake and perceived fault from the last month. 

He had persisted all through the trip home, and into the apartment building, with Blair turning paler with every harsh word. Jim stood abruptly as he remembered that he had actually run to catch up as Blair tried to enter the elevator before him, then torn into him again as the doors began to close. How could he have done that? 

Turning to look at a photo of the two of them that sat on the bookshelves, Jim stared again at the face of his guide -- a handsome face, the one that he loved more than anything or anybody else in the world. He'd always known that he loved Blair, but it had taken him almost destroying that love to see it as it was. A love that was physical, complete and anything but brotherly. 

Jim had tried to destroy that love, to shield himself from unfamiliar emotions, but that had been doomed to failure as well. Because as soon as Jim Ellison had seen Blair Sandburg hurry out of that door, betrayal in every movement, eyes bright with tears, he had known that he wanted him back. It had taken him a few hours to admit to himself why he had wanted him back, but now that he knew, the urge to find his friend was overwhelming. 

Turning to the balcony once more, he cringed at the darkness and rain that the windows protected him from. Blair could be anywhere, but at the moment that fact didn't matter. Jim paced the loft, mind running in different directions, the dull ache in his leg forgotten. Where would Blair have gone? He'd said that he was leaving for a while, but hadn't stopped for any clothes, so he couldn't have gone far. He had no car, so it would be somewhere within walking range. Like that helped; anger would have given his roommate a speed that could take him miles in any direction. There were also buses, but Jim assumed that even the expense of a ticket may have been beyond Blair; he hoped so anyway. 

Catching a glimpse of the phone, Jim abruptly stopped his awkward pacing. Blair's cell phone, how could he have forgotten that? Some detective he was. Scooping up the handset, Jim pressed the quick dial two, hoping fervently that Blair would pick up. He groaned aloud when the automated voice told him the number was no longer operational. 'No longer operational'; he couldn't even kid himself that Blair was out of range. How could he have missed that Blair was so hard up that he couldn't even afford his cell phone? 

Jim seriously considered an APB for a moment, but quickly squashed that notion; this was his mess and he would be the one to solve it. If only he hadn't waited so long to find Blair. If he had followed right away, he could have tracked him by smell. Not that he was a bloodhound or anything, but he was sure he could scent Blair on the breeze if he concentrated hard enough, even if just to get a rough direction. Now though, the streets were slicked with rain, and the smell of the wet streets dominated the air. 

He would have to put the Sentinel away for now and become Jim the detective. Where did his gut say that Blair was? The library? He doubted that Blair was in the mood for company; that was if Blair was even allowed into the building. To his shame, Jim didn't even know, hadn't thought to ask just how complete the ban from Rainier was. He figured that Blair would have walked off his anger -- but to where? Jim went to get his now dry coat, eyes alight with determination. Blair could have left the state; hell with the contacts he had, he could be on his way out of the country, but that didn't matter. Wherever his friend was, Jim would find him; he had a lot to make right. 

~0~0~0~ 

Blair pulled his coat tighter round his body and pushed his hands further into the deep pockets, hunching over slightly to preserve what little body heat he had. Damp curls were plastered against his forehead, and each breath created little clouds of mist. He was cold, wet, and hungry, but strangely his mood was more upbeat than it had been for a while. It wasn't often that Blair had the chance to sit and evaluate his life -- not that he would have chosen to do it sitting on the dark docks with a drizzle falling if he'd had any choice. But that choice had been refused him, and he was nothing if not adaptable. 

These last few hours had shown him that Jim was the most important person in his life. Sure he loved his mom, but she wasn't vital to him. Blair could go months without hearing from Naomi and be cool about it. He didn't rely on her, hadn't needed her for years... but he did need Jim, in a way that scared him a little. 

As he contemplated the past few years Blair realised that the hero worship that he initially held for the Sentinel had, over time, changed into a love for Jim -- the person, not the diss subject. He knew that Jim had come to love him too -- not that they ever said so in words. The hugs, touches and togetherness had shown that instead. They'd grown closer, sharing meals, basketball, nights out; even nights watching TV had a cosy comfortable feel. Girlfriends had become sparser as they had both seemed content with each other's company. Blair looked back at those times with nostalgia. They had been so happy then, existing together in a harmony that worked so well. Then that harmony had been smashed by an interloper into their comfortable world when Alex Barnes had tilted the balance of their lives completely -- the beginning of the end, as it were. 

Looking back, Blair couldn't believe how wrong everything had gone in so short a time. He didn't regret trying to help her; she had been in pain, she'd needed help and he would do it again. What he did regret was the secrecy that he'd used, keeping Jim and Alex away from one another. That had been wrong, and for choosing that lie he had paid the ultimate price. Yeah, he had died and that sucked, but what had hurt even more was the moment when he realised that Jim was throwing him out. He could deal with the death thing... not that he liked it, but he could cope. What he couldn't handle was the feeling of betrayal as he saw all of his possessions in boxes on the loft floor. 

Of course, _that_ betrayal was nothing to the one he felt when he saw Jim making out with Alex on that beach. He must have looked such a dork, standing there watching his best friend kiss his killer. He had felt like just walking away then and leaving them to it, but instead had stayed to help Jim find Alex after he let her go. 

That, Blair supposed, was the moment he had decided to stay with Jim whatever he did. Not a conscious decision in any way, just a fleeting moment when he could have walked, but stayed. Blair had gone back to the loft, back to that tiny room that had once been the happiest home he had ever known, but everything had changed. He and Jim were still friends on the surface, but they'd grown distant as time passed -- a distance that widened when Naomi sent his diss to Sid. 

After that, a friendship that had been on the rocks began to crumble. Blair knew that Jim had arranged his enrollment in the academy with the best of intentions, but he'd felt pressured into agreeing to go -- still did, to be honest. He'd filled in all the forms that would start his journey into becoming an official cop with a heavy heart. He hated the idea of being a detective; not so much the gun thing, he certainly wasn't non-violent. It was the idea of 'checking your feelings at the door' that frightened him. He was a people person; it scared the crap out of him to think this aspect of his nature could be lost. 

Blair still loved Jim -- loved him desperately -- but he could see now that he also felt resentment toward him, for betraying him with Alex, and for not accepting his apology. The bitterness was reinforced that day in the bullpen when he was told that he could be Jim's official partner. Yeah, _told_ , not _asked_ if he wanted to be. But he had never shown that resentment, although it continued to grow as it was left up to him to patch their friendship. Blair sighed deeply as he raked through his backpack for his watch. He knew it was late from the stars that twinkled overhead, but was shocked at just how late it was. 

"Damn, two hours and all I've decided is I still have issues about Alex, and becoming a cop \-- like I didn't know that -- and that I love Jim." 

Standing and grimacing at the wet denim that clung to his butt, he walked to the water's edge. His hands clenched, Blair threw back his head as he berated the world at large. "What's the point in realizing that I love him? He hates me! Look at me. Life fucking sucks!" Blair felt marginally better after the outburst. Then his shoulders slumped and he looked towards the dark water below. "And now I'm homeless again. I think I can see a pattern here. Guess I'd better try and bum a floor to sleep on tonight, then I'll head to Saint Sebastian's in the morning. I've got eight weeks before cop school starts; surely I can sort my pathetic existence out before then." 

Blair walked back to the bench that had been his for the last few hours, hefted his backpack over his shoulder and turned towards the main street. He felt drained; the realization -- in one night -- that he loved Jim, but had lost him, hung heavy on his shoulders. As much as he wanted to, Blair knew that he didn't have the energy or willingness -- alone -- to mend their relationship again. He resigned himself to the loss. Even energetic anthropologists have their limit, and Blair Sandburg had just reached his. 

~0~0~0~ 

Jim sighed in resignation as he walked to his truck, knowing that he'd probably spend the next few hours driving aimlessly. He'd give himself a few hours before starting to phone the few friends that still talked to Blair to ask if they'd seen him. Jim knew he shouldn't wait, but the coward in him wanted to postpone the inevitable questions that would highlight his failure to keep his friend safe. All he knew was that he would try to never fail Sandburg again. If Blair didn't share his feelings, that was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but he'd cope, just like he always did. Allowing one small smile at the hope that Blair might return his feelings, Jim drove away from 852 Prospect. He would patrol the streets all night if he had to. 

~0~0~0~ 

As Jim drove away from the loft, Blair was walking towards the main road, mentally calculating how long it would take to walk to the nearest working payphone. It was times like this that he longed for a fully working cell phone. His would only dial 911 now, and somehow Blair doubted that this argument with Jim would be classed as a real emergency. At least an hour, he thought, as every phone box at the docks seemed to be vandalized. That was okay though, it wasn't like he had anyplace to go, or anyone to hurry to. *Jeeze, Sandburg just depress yourself more why don't you? It's not like Jim is going to swoop up like a hero on his white horse and rescue you again, he doesn't even like you anymore, thinks you're a voyeur. Just accept it and move on, think of something else, something that doesn't involve this pits of a day. Maybe when we went fly fishing with Simon, that was a good day -- for a while anyway.* 

Blair kept on walking; his feet felt like they were on fire, wet leather rubbing painfully against tender heels. *Okay, at this point I'd even take a ratty old truck instead of a white horse.* In fact he'd take any transport that didn't involve him moving a muscle. Suddenly his aching feet and back seemed to overwhelm him and Blair knew he had to rest a moment. No convenient benches here, the curb would have to do. 

Lowering his weary body to the cold cement, Blair felt about double his age. All the arguments and strife of the last few months were catching up at once; all he wanted to do was sleep. At the moment, even if he did get Jim into bed, which was frankly very unlikely, he wouldn't be able to do anything _but_ sleep. As he felt his head nodding forward he decided that he'd better start moving again before being arrested for vagrancy; that would be the perfect end to this day. Muscles screaming at having to move again, Blair pulled himself to his feet and stepped back as a truck sped past. *Asshole drivers, don't they know not to speed?* Grumbling at drivers in general and especially those who drove like madmen, Blair turned towards the road again and placed one sore foot in front of the other. 

~0~0~0~ 

Jim had searched Cascade once without seeing Sandburg, then immediately turned to try a new route. A feeling of futility settled round him, but his stubbornness wouldn't let him stop looking until every road had been seen. He refused to think of what he would do if Blair had left Cascade. Jim simply had a feeling that Blair was nearby. It drove him forward, even though he didn't know if it was a cop feeling, a sentinel feeling or just the hopes of a man in love. 

This was the twenty-seventh road Jim had checked, and his eyes were beginning to strain from the constant searching they were doing. It was difficult to watch both sides of the road at once as the truck barrelled along, and several times he'd screeched to a halt at a movement in the bushes, only to find a scared animal, or -- on one memorable occasion -- a couple of teens making out under a blanket. He grinned remembering their shocked faces; he'd have to tell Blair about them later. Jim wasn't prepared to think that there mightn't be any 'later'. He'd been a bastard to Blair, he knew that, but now he acknowledged that he could put things right, however long it took. 

"What the hell's that?" 

Jim brought the truck to a halt as a movement from the curb caught his eye. He thought it was an animal at first, but looking in his mirror Jim saw a figure slowly stand up and walk away from the truck. His breathing speeded up as he recognised Blair. Jim should have been ecstatic, but instead just mutely stared at Sandburg in the mirror as he walked away from the truck. Now that Jim had Blair in sight he was scared. Scared of what though? Rejection? Pain? Love? 

"Come on Ellison, seize the moment" 

His own pep-talk helped; as Jim left the safe confines of his truck and started to walk after Blair. 

"Chief!" 

Blair turned, and momentarily an expression of hope flitted across his expressive face, followed immediately by anger. 

"Jim, what do you want man? I'm too tired to argue right now; maybe we could schedule it for Friday at 10, I have a spare hour then." 

Jim halted in the road, feeling his heart sink as he saw the expression on Blair's face. 

"I don't want to argue Chief..." 

The words seemed to throw Blair into a fury as he glared defiantly at Jim. "So what do you want man? To call me more names, or are my things back in boxes in the back of the truck? Do you want to hit me -- throw me against a wall, I mean there's no wall here but I'm sure a tree will do just as well. Do you want to reinforce your alpha status, see me lie on the floor and bare my belly to you? What the hell do you want Jim, blood?" 

Jim wanted to retreat from the hostile words flung at him, but forced himself to look Blair in the eye, his own gaze steely against Blair's fuming expression. 

"I want to say I'm sorry Blair." 

"Blair! Now you call me Blair -- not Chief, Darwin, guppy or any of the variations you're so fond of? Now it's 'Blair'. What's the matter Jim, have you discovered that I'm a person and not just your faithful sidekick?" 

"I could see you as Robin." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jim knew he'd made a mistake. It was hard to stop his instinctive habit of joking, but the words caused Blair's temper to explode even further. Sandburg's face was red with fury as he faced Jim, emotion rolling from him in waves. 

It was too much; the straw that broke the camel's back. After everything that had happened, Blair was furious that the other man could simply make a joke. He could feel the anger surge as he stared at Jim, could feel his hands bunch into fists, could feel the impact of his fist against Jim's jawbone as rage took over his rational mind. Blair stared at Jim sprawled in the dirt. The detective hadn't made any attempt to defend himself, seemingly resigned to the situation. Blair knew he should be ashamed, should be horrified that he had hit Jim, yet he wasn't, and still the anger remained. 

"For fuck's sake Jim, is everything a joke to you? You've treated me like shit these last few months. Do you think a 'sorry' and a joke will make it all better? Actually I guess you do, and you know what? Maybe that's partially my fault as well. I let you use humour to make things better too often. I get hurt, you joke. You get hurt, we joke; I died and you fucking joked! But you know what -- the only joke here is me. I thought we could stay friends after everything that's happened, but I was wrong. I just can't do it any more Jim; this has to be the end. Just let me go and we'll call it quits. I'll help if you ever need it with the Sentinel thing, but you have Megan and Simon, and let's be honest, you don't need my help for control any more. I can't do anything for you now Jim, except maybe one last thing -- be brave enough to end this now. It's over; I'd like to stay your friend but that's not going to happen is it? I'll move out tomorrow, stay on a friend's floor until I join the Academy, then I suppose I can board there. 

Blair stopped talking suddenly, all his energy apparently drained with the outpouring of his feelings. No one who saw him would recognise the man who could brighten a room with his laugh and smile. When he'd heard Jim's voice he'd thought that wishful thinking had hijacked his mind, providing him with his 'hero on a white horse'. But now, listening as Jim repeated old habits, Blair knew that Jim was no idealized hero. It was time he realised that 'hero's' belonged in fairy tales, magic to read about, but unlikely to happen in real life. 

The detective had looked so pleased to see him, smiling as if he had won the lottery. When Blair had started his rant, and that smile faltered, he felt guilty. But he pushed the guilt aside; he knew that if he let his firewall of anger down he'd probably jump into Jim's arms asking forgiveness. Considering that Jim hated him, that would be plain wrong. Blair stared at his former friend -- who had made no attempt to get up \-- as Jim visibly took some calming breaths. 

"I love you Blair," he whispered staring at the road. 

Blair couldn't believe what he'd heard. 

"What did you say?" 

"I said I love you." 

Standing statue-still, Blair stared at Jim, disbelief flooding his body. "No, you don't, you hate me, you think I'm a nuisance, a leech remember?" 

"No, I don't; that was anger talking." 

"Yeah, but anger at who Jim? Me! You've barely tolerated me for months and now you say that you love me? I don't think so." 

"Please Chief... Blair... I do love you, have for a long time; I just didn't realize it." 

A snort showed Jim what Blair thought of that idea. 

"Didn't realize what Jim? That you loved me? Where do you get off saying things like that?" Blair began to pace, hands flying, as he attempted to deal with Jim's confession. "I guess you mean love in a sexual sense, but can't you see the problem with that? You're not gay, you're not even bi. Jesus Jim, people don't just turn gay; you don't wake up one morning and think 'I'll be gay today'. I've told you I dated guys in the past, but _you_ , you've been the poster boy for heterosexuality. Now you're trying to tell me you love me. I don't think so." 

Blair stopped his pacing to stare down at Jim. He felt so mad that if Jim had been standing, he would have punched him again. Instead he stood, breathing heavily as Jim looked up, then away from him, apparently looking for the right words. 

"You're right Chief, I see that. But you gotta understand, this isn't something that's suddenly came out of the left field. I've been attracted to men before... just not for a long time. I've never told you about Ben. He was a good friend when I was about fourteen -- more than a friend really -- I had one of my first kisses with him. Spent the whole summer together, until my father caught us making out in my bedroom. Ben was never allowed in the house again, and I wasn't brave enough to protest. I was James Ellison, I was expected to take over the family firm, get married, have kids. Not be a queer with freaky senses. I should have fought back, but didn't. It was hard enough in that house without dealing with gay feelings. You have to understand that Blair, I could only deal with so much. That doesn't mean what I feel for you isn't real. Just that -- like my senses -- you've shown me it's okay to be me, to be _real._

Hearing the pain in Jim's voice, Blair once again sent a silent curse towards William Ellison, the cause of so many of Jim's problems. He believed what Jim had said, but still, the anger didn't dissipate; too many questions needed answering. "Okay, I can see why you kept those feelings repressed then, but why the hell wait until now to tell me? I'm not some kinda homophobe Jim, I wouldn't have thought differently about you. Why tell me now, when we're teetering on the edge of destroying each other?" 

"I was stupid I know, I was scared. You know what that's like, not knowing if you could take the responsibility of a relationship. Committing yourself to one person, because -- believe me, if we ever get together I could never let you go. Knowing that scared me, you gotta see that." 

As Blair listened to Jim's words, he could feel the ice that had surrounded his heart and soul these last few months begin to thaw slightly. He was still mad; Jim's behaviour over the last few months had been cruel and unfeeling. There was no way Blair could let that go totally. But Jim looked miserable as he sat on the ground -- clothes mud-splattered and sodden from the puddle he'd landed in, skin pale and hands shaking as he laid bare his heart and hidden feelings. Jim was saying everything that Blair had dreamed of, saying that he loved him... yet was that enough? 

"I don't know Jim; you're asking a lot here. Do you know what I've been through lately? I know some of that's my fault, but man, you've never helped. Now you tell me you love me and expect me to fall into your arms. It just doesn't work like that. You're thinking like some Harlequin romance, and life just isn't that way." 

Looking down, Blair watched as Jim's whole body seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped forward, and he began to distractedly rub at his recently injured leg, smearing mud further into the fabric of his jeans. 

Mumbling softly, Jim began to speak. "Would you at least come home to the loft and let us start again? We need to talk, I know that. I can't say that I'll find it easy but I'll try; I think our relationship deserves at least that. Plus we need to get dry -- if nothing else going back to the loft will get us warm and dry." 

Blair suppressed a hysterical laugh as Jim's words sank in. "Jesus Jim, I wonder why I'm wet? Maybe the fact I've been out in the rain for the last four hours should give you a clue" 

"Smart ass; so will you come home?" 

"Smart ass! Are you kidding me here? You come chasing after me, tell me you love me -- which I have to say was a surprise, considering your behaviour lately. Then try to get me to come back to the loft by calling me names. Man, your technique is seriously flawed. Can I also remind you who's sitting in the mud and who's standing? I'd recommend you re-think that smart ass comment." 

"Okay, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking...again. I do want you to come home though...please." 

Blair looked at Jim, the way his partner was staring at him, blue eyes blazing, hands cradling his leg. Blair wanted nothing more than to go home, but he knew that the moment he stepped into the truck it was 'game over'. 

Jim and he might never be a couple but they would remain linked in a way that couldn't be broken. He was torn; he loved Jim -- even now he just wanted to be tucked into those arms -- but could they make a relationship of any kind work? History would say no; what had he asked himself earlier? Could he build a relationship on such rocky foundations? 

What would the tribes of Peru do if they wanted to set up camp on an unsuitable ground? Would they walk away to new pastures or stay and put the effort into what was possibly a great campsite? Staring at his friend, Blair abruptly made a decision. 

"Okay the Chopec would clear the area, not move away; guess I'll do the same." 

Jim didn't have a clue what Blair meant; however he did understand that Blair was coming home, which was the important part. "That's great Chief, can we go now? And will you help me up...please? My damn leg's cramped up again." 

Rolling his eyes, Blair began to move slowly, muscles screaming in protest. "No Jim I thought we'd stay here all night until my clothes freeze to my body and my temperature drops another degree. Of course let's go now, what do think I want to stay here for? And yeah, I'll help you up, not that I'm sorry that I hit you. You deserved it, and I'm _not_ going to feel guilty for it... well not now anyway." 

Blair limped towards Jim and hauled him to his feet. Once sure that Jim was steady, he moved to the truck, leaving the bemused man behind. 

"What's wrong with your feet?" 

What was wrong with his feet? Just then they felt as if they'd been placed in an oven as his ankles bled and rubbed inside his shoes and socks. Sighing in resignation, Blair kept moving slowly, throwing his answer back to Jim. 

"Blisters the size of dinner plates." 

"Can you walk okay? 

"I've just walked at least ten miles Jim, I'm sure I'll manage the last few feet to the truck, thanks for asking and all. What about you? Can you walk okay as well? 

"Yeah, don't worry about me, I'm fine." 

Quietly -- so soft that at first Jim thought he'd imagined it -- Blair replied. "It's my job to worry, whatever happens." Then louder, "I don't think so man. You don't look fine to me; I haven't forgotten that you got shot not so long back. Then you've been sitting in muddy water for a bit -- I'm still not feeling guilty for that, so don't think this means I am. Let me check you over, make sure you're not bleeding. Your face, too, I hit you pretty hard." 

Blair limped back to Jim; concerned as he noticed the other man's condition. Jim was wet from his lower back to his feet, smeared with mud and markedly favouring his bad leg. A bruise was just blooming over his jaw, all of which combined to make Jim look dead on his feet. 

"I'm fine Chief, really. I'm not going to lie and say I feel at my best right now, but I'll survive. I'll check my leg when we get home, and my face, but really what'll make me feel better is to have you home. No pressure -- I'll take you to anywhere you want to go if you don't want to come back. I owe you that at least, but I really want you home Blair, please." 

Blair looked undecided for a minute, distractedly chewing on his lower lip. Jim knew this could go either way, Blair could leave or stay, he'd said all he could; now all he could do was hope. 

"I'll come back, for now. But things have to change, for the better this time." 

Jim watched as Blair walked away then climbed into the truck. He couldn't believe that he had actually found him and that he was willing to come home. He wasn't stupid enough to think that all was well; it was obvious even to him that there were issues that needed sorting out between them. At least Blair hadn't burst out laughing or looked horrified at the fact that Jim declared his love. 

Grimacing at the feel of wet denim clinging to his ass and legs, Jim thought longingly of the old blanket that he usually put on the seat of his truck when he or Sandburg got wet or dirty. Normally no one would dare enter the pristine interior wet, without using a cover first, nor would Jim let them. But tonight was anything but normal. If dirty wet seat covers were the consequence of Blair coming home, Jim could cope. He could always get the fabric cleaner out tomorrow. 

Settling in the driver's seat he dared to place a hand briefly on Blair's hand, his own cold body shivering in unison as he realized just how cold his friend was. Although he looked up at the touch, Blair tucked his hand under his armpit as soon as Jim removed his hand. All in all he looked a pathetic figure, huddled in the corner of the seat with his head resting on the window as if he didn't have the energy to hold it up anymore. Frizzy curls clung to his face, which itself was a shade paler than usual, the five o'clock stubble in stark relief to the wan cheeks. Blair had his eyes closed at the moment, but Jim knew if he opened them they would be dull with exhaustion. 

"I do love you, you know." 

Jim had to make an effort to hear the faint voice that seemed directed to the ground outside. 

"It's just... I don't know, is that enough? I've always loved you in some ways, but this last year it was so much more. I could see us growing old together, years of camping, cases, pizza, all the boring stuff you know, but important to me... to us. I had started to think you thought the same, but the whole Alex thing stopped that. I didn't even admit to myself what I hoped for; what was the point when we were both happily heterosexual? Tonight, when you said what you did, I just had to go; I'd had enough abuse to last a lifetime. 

"I'm sorry Chief, I..." 

"No, let me finish please Jim. I admitted to myself tonight that I don't just love you, I desire you as well. I think that's what you think of me as well, I hope so anyway, or this baring of my heart is a moot point. Which would really suck. I do want to be with you, you must know that. It's just that it has to go slow because of so many things. I want you, but that scares me. That means I would be gay and a gay cop at that, and that's something that I have to process. It's a whole life-altering thing, you know. Then the other part, and I think this is the most important -- we haven't even been friends since the Alex fiasco. No don't deny it Jim; friends don't do what we did. Do you really think that we have the right to be lovers when we aren't even friends?" 

When silence filled the truck, Jim realized that he was supposed to respond. What the fuck was he supposed to say? He had the feeling that his future rested on this reply and that scared the shit out of him. Blair was the one with words that solved problems, not him. How could he say what he needed to say, but how could he not? The silence was becoming oppressive before he finally spoke. 

"Look Blair, I'm not going to say I'm sorry again. You know that I am, but what's the point of repeating myself over and over? I've told you why I think I behaved the way I did; I was scared and took it out on you. I know better now; searching for you tonight has shown me how much I need you; I would've driven to Alaska if I needed to. I don't know how I'll react to being gay, I've never been there before, but what I do know is that I love you and that certainly includes desire. The thought of you in my bed gives me such a thrill, but I'm more than happy to take it slow. Hell, I'll buy you flowers and candy if you like. I just want you home. I know we've got problems to work out, but I have faith that we'll solve them. Is that what you needed to hear? 

Jim watched in the window's reflection as a smile broke out on Blair's face. It was a poor imitation of Sandburg's usual grin, but it was there, that's all that mattered. "It's pretty cold in Alaska Jim, doubt if I'd go there... but yeah, it means a lot that you said that Jim, more than you could know." 

Blair turned from the window and looked at Jim, the way he was staring into the distance, as if he was talking to someone miles away and not right next to him. He looked at the pale skin, mottled with the beginnings of a bruise and the way Jim's jaw twitched with suppressed emotion. Jim still had on the clothes that he had worn all day, so he was crumpled, wet and dishevelled, but at that moment he was the most beautiful man on earth to Blair. 

He warned himself to be aware of the problems that still overwhelmed them, but found that his heart was saying _'to hell with it, throw caution to the wind'._

"Kiss me." 

"What?" 

"I said kiss me." 

"What about going slow?" 

"Slow can wait a little, flowers are overrated and you'd just eat my candy; now kiss me, damn it." 

What was Jim supposed to do with a demand like that? Wrenching his eyes from the window he'd been watching for the last few minutes, Jim turned to look at Blair, and found him sitting up straight, staring at him with conflicting emotions of desire, fear and confusion flashing across his face. How could he refuse a request like that? "Come here then." 

Moving slowly, Jim met Blair in the middle ground between them. Placing a gentle hand on his cheek he traced the dark circles that bordered Blair's eyes, feather-light touches that caressed the skin. Fingers trailed down over the cheekbones and met on the snub nose. Using only one finger, he trailed over the lush full lips then brought both hands to Blair's neck and gently pulled him forward. He would have loved to run his fingers through all that hair, but the mist had transformed it into a frizzy mass that strained to leave the confines of the hair-tie, and he doubted that having damp frizzy hair round his face would please Blair. Leaning forward Jim brushed his own lips against Blair's, exploring their fullness. Pressing harder he used his tongue to gently lick along the top lip, then the bottom. They were cold and dry to the touch but so arousing that he became braver and pushed his tongue between them to trace teeth. He felt Blair's breath hitch, then the pressure was returned to his own lips and Blair's mouth opened. Jim felt his pulse race as he timidly felt around inside the open mouth. It was warm inside, even warmer when he felt the tongue he was exploring move to touch his own. Pulses raced as the two men kissed for minutes, both hesitant at first, then more eagerly as they both felt desire take over. It was only when Jim put his hands on Blair's that they stopped. Horrified at how cold he was, he pulled back and smiled ecstatically. 

"That was wonderful Blair, thank you." 

"No thanks necessary my man, you're pretty hot yourself you know." 

"Yeah but you're not..." 

Seeing Blair's hurt gaze he hurried to explain himself. 

"You're cold; you need to get warmed up in a hot shower, maybe some hot tea. Here, wear my jacket 'till we get home, it's drier than yours, and take that wet one off. I'll put the heaters on high." 

"Yeah well it's about time, this white horse sucks." 

"What was that Chief?" 

"Nothing man, just ignore me. Just take us home, then you can get warm and dry too; don't think I didn't notice how cold you are as well. I don't want you getting sick now." 

Jim was determined to do exactly that. Keeping one hand on Blair's leg, he started the journey back to the loft. It was late, and he was exhausted, but under that exhaustion was the feeling that at last something was going right between him and Blair. He knew that the time ahead would be hard -- one kiss didn't make everything okay -- but at least it was a start. Jim would take Blair home, make sure he was warm and dry, feed him then get him into bed -- Blair's bed, not his. If he had to take this slow he would. He might eat the candy, and yeah flowers could be overrated... but it didn't mean that he couldn't think about buying them. 

As Jim looked at the dozing figure that slouched next to him, swamped in his own coat, he felt a surge of affection sweep through him. Blair Sandburg could be the most irritating, noisy, interfering, untidy person ever, but at that moment Jim wouldn't change that for the world. 

~0~0~0~ 

The journey home was a silent one as Blair slumped against the truck window, eyes threatening to shut as exhaustion overwhelmed him. It was taking a Herculean effort just to stay awake, even for the drive home. Every few seconds he would feel his body relax in readiness to plunge into dreamland, a place that was so inviting, but totally not where he needed to be at that particular moment. 

Blair was confused; it seemed as though the last few minutes had slipped by like quicksilver. His befuddled mind scrambled to explain kisses, declarations of love and the unlikely scenario that apparently Jim desired him. It was just too much. For months now he'd been braced for the day that he would be evicted from the loft for good. Yet here he was now, welcome in the loft, and maybe eventually, welcome in Jim's bed. Fuck. Who could have seen that one coming? Certainly not him. He hated feeling this lost; he loved Jim, but he also hated him sometimes, and that was just fucked up right? 

Blair had always believed that there was a fine line between love and hate, but experiencing this first hand was giving him a headache. He knew that the kiss was the beginning of something big, he just didn't know if this big thing was bad or good yet. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Jim to kiss him but damn, he looked so good sitting there. Typical Sandburg libido -- his emotions screwed to bits, but his body still stood up to attention. 

"We're home Chief." 

Peering through the fogged window, Blair saw that they were back at 852 Prospect. It seemed like it was days since he had stormed out of there, yet it had been only a matter of hours. In that time his life had started to change, not much yet, but a start nonetheless. 

Pulling Jim's coat more securely round him, Blair exited the truck, intent on a shower, then bed. He knew that a talk was desperately needed, but that would have to wait. His life had begun to turn tonight; it seemed that he'd taken the first steps on a personal journey that he never would have foreseen. Blair needed to think about this, but later. Right now the call of hot water and clean blankets was the most important thing in his mind. Jim had waited four years to tell him that he loved him; he could just wait another day for the consequences. 

Watching Blair stumble towards the entrance, Jim was struck at just how lucky he had been tonight. It could easily have gone so wrong; he could have lost Blair before he had even acknowledged that he needed to find him. It had been a close call, closer than he dared think about. It was hard to admit the harsh truth -- his own nature had nearly caused their friendship to collapse. 

Jim knew that he'd been a detached, repressed ass these last months, reverting back to the pre-Sandburg Jim, someone he'd tried to leave behind. Hell, at times he had made an effort to look at himself through others' eyes and been horrified at the cold stranger that occupied his body. The walls that he had built to protect himself had been strong, yet Blair had been able to breach them. Strange that it was Blair who had made him fortify his defenses once again as he realized that his emotions were exposed and able to be hurt. 

When he heard the click of a door catching, Jim realised that Blair had entered the building without him. Okay, so it looked like there was going to be no symbolic entering of the loft together, the first step as potential partners. Yet what had he expected? It wasn't like he was going to sweep Blair off his feet and carry him over the threshold; the idea was ludicrous. Sure, it would stop Blair's feet hurting but the way he felt right now he'd probably drop Blair on the floor, then fall on him -- not a good thing to do. 

Sighing softly, Jim locked the truck for the night, taking his time over the usual movements. He could use a shower as well after spending hours searching Cascade. He was cold and wet, not just because he's given his coat away, but cold with the realisation that he'd bared some of his soul tonight. Jim had kept his feelings under a layer of anger for so long that this shared confidence just felt wrong. No, maybe not wrong... Jim knew that the truth had to be told, but with that telling was the hard truth that his soul now lay naked to Blair. 

Jim hated the feelings of helplessness that surrounded him as he watched the loft lights lit up one by one. Catching a glimpse of Blair's face at the balcony doors, he started towards home; he'd stood outside for long enough. He still felt unsettled and unsure, but just seeing Blair in the loft back where he belonged soothed his soul a little, a start at least. 

~0~0~0~ 

Entering the loft again felt strange to Blair; it seemed like only minutes ago that he'd been propelled in by Jim's anger. Minutes since his world -- that he'd been franticly patching for months -- had shattered with a few cruel words. It was funny really; Jim had accused him of wanting to fuck, and all this time they really _had_ wanted to 'do the deed'. Score one for the intuition of the sentinel. 

Limping towards the balcony, Blair noticed a beer bottle lying abandoned on the table by the door, suggesting that Jim had left the loft in a hurry. Normally bottles would be washed and placed in the recycle bin, never left on the counter or table and certainly never abandoned on that small table. The wrongness of that bottle made Blair turn back and pick it up before turning towards the balcony doors again. 

Jim was taking ages to reach the loft, not that he was worried. In fact, the hesitation was a relief -- anything to put off the inevitable talk. Still he'd better check that Jim was coming up and hadn't driven off to brood in solitude. Squinting hard, Blair could just make out the tall figure standing by the truck. Although he doubted that Jim would actually zone by just locking up, he was still relieved when he saw his head move to look at the loft. Knowing that he'd been seen, Blair quickly moved away from the doors, the silent song of hot water calling him. Stopping only to place the bottle in the sink, he grabbed sweats from a pile on the floor of his room and hurried to reach the bathroom before Jim entered the loft. 

~0~0~0~ 

When Jim entered the loft, it was apparent that the atmosphere of emptiness that had taken over had started to abate. He could feel that someone was there; just seeing that things had changed since he left made him feel comforted. People thought of Jim as a loner -- and to some extent he was -- but after Carolyn had left he found that the novelty of all his stuff staying in the same place when he returned home soon waned. He'd come home from work and the remote would still be on the table, a book would still be open at the same page... hell, the cushions would still have his ass imprints in them. When he'd invited Sandburg to live with him he'd heard people make bets about how long he'd allow Blair to invade his space. Soon they'd surpassed every wager, surprising the detectives who felt that cold Jim Ellison wouldn't tolerate an unconventional hippy student for long. What he hadn't told them was that toleration had turned to liking and affection within days, even with the Larry fiasco. Soon he hadn't been able to imagine his life without Blair -- not that he'd ever told anyone that. 

Maybe that had been part of the problem; he never seemed to want to talk about what he felt. Over the years he'd had to keep so much hidden, from Covert Ops missions to his heightened senses, that Jim now found it difficult to open up to anyone. That had changed a little as Blair had wormed his way into his world. He'd soon realized that his roommate had the ability to verbally harass him for hours if he wanted to know something, so he'd learned that bowing to the inevitable and telling Blair something would give him a respite from his nagging. 

Yet even in doing that, he'd keep parts of himself hidden -- parts that he thought didn't need talking about, things that hurt. What he hadn't realised was that those things could hurt anyway, twisting him inside until he built walls to suppress all tender feelings. Tonight he'd made a chink in those walls, and frankly he was terrified; giving up a part of himself like that was hard. Yet he knew that if he hadn't said something his relationship with Blair would have ended tonight. He could only push so long before the little respect that Blair still held for him would shatter. He'd done the right thing, he knew that; so why did he feel so exposed by doing it? The feelings confused and hurt him; he loved Blair, yet at times Sandburg could infuriate him. Even tonight, as relived as Jim was to discover the atmosphere of emptiness had left the loft, he'd been angry that the door had been left unlocked when Blair was in the shower. It was a loft rule that the door was always locked; they couldn't take the chance of any perp just walking in. Blair knew that. Sure he knew Jim was following, but things could happen within seconds. The rule was there for a purpose, and Blair had violated it. Love, resentment, fear, anger, they all flashed through Jim's mind. It was confusing. When his marriage to Carolyn had gone bad they hadn't tried hard to fix it, so why was prepared to work so hard to save his relationship with Sandburg? 

Hearing Blair leave the bathroom, Jim pushed his thoughts to one side, watching as Blair went to his room, wrapped in white towels. 

"I'm going to have a quick shower Chief; come back out here when you're dressed okay? I want to check out your blisters. If you want, there's some soup in the freezer you could heat up." 

"Yeah, that's fine man, I'm good for that." 

Entering the steamy bathroom, Jim smiled as he noticed that Blair had made the effort to put his wet clothes in the hamper. Checking the temperature after turning on the water, Jim quickly undressed, groaning as he pulled his wet jeans from damp, chaffed skin. Painfully stepping into the tub, he sighed as the warm water cascaded over his body, washing away the mud that had reached his skin. His leg ached, thumping in sympathy with his jaw. *Sandburg can sure hit hard when he's pissed.* Closing his eyes, Jim let his head fall back, letting the water warm up his body. It was blissful; he was warm, and could hear Blair moving in the kitchen. The smell of chicken noodle soup heating on the stove tickled his nose; the combination signalled 'home'. If it weren't for the ache in his leg, Jim could have stayed there for hours. Instead, he reached for one of his blue towels and wrapped it round his waist, before giving the tub a quick wipe down. Bathroom tidy once more, Jim pulled out the first-aid kit and joined Blair at the table. 

Placing the kit on the floor, Jim wrapped his hands round the bowl of soup that Blair pushed towards him. Both men were silent, lost in thought as they ate their late dinner. As he finished the last dregs, Jim looked at Blair, seeing the younger man practically asleep on the table, one hand propping up his head. 

"Sandburg, listen, I want to look at your feet, then you can go to sleep, okay? 

Blair looked like he was going to protest, before agreeing with one condition. "Okay, I guess you'd better, but you have to check yourself as well, right?" 

Agreeing with a nod, Jim shifted in his chair until Blair could place one of his feet on Jim's lap, even if it was at an awkward angle. As he gently ran a hand over Blair's ankle, Jim felt the heat from blistered skin. Some of the blisters had been burst, but some remained puffed up. They needed to be lanced; Jim searched for a sterile needle in the kit. Giving Blair a confident smile, he quickly drained each blister, then covered them all with antiseptic lotion and a light bandage, before repeating the process on Blair's other foot. 

"There, all done, go and take some aspirin and then you can go to bed." 

"I don't think so Jim. I want to make sure you're okay first. Have you checked your leg?" 

"My leg's fine Chief, aches a bit but that's not surprising. I'm going to take some aspirin and I'll be okay by tomorrow... and before you ask my jaw's fine too. I'm just gonna have a hell of a bruise, and yeah, I know you don't feel guilty. I don't expect you to." 

"You're right Jim, I don't feel guilty at all, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to make sure you're okay. Come on man, how hard will it be to let me look at your leg? It's not as if you have to get undressed or anything. Just flip that towel up and let me have a look." 

Jim felt a blush sweep through his body as he suddenly realized that he was sitting wearing only a small towel, Blair's foot firmly planted on his lap. Normally he wasn't a man for much modesty, but now, knowing that Blair desired him, he was all too aware of the skimpy fabric that hugged his hips. 

Casting a quick look towards Blair, and seeing only concern, Jim pulled a section of the towel aside, displaying the healing scar on his leg. 

"See, told you it was fine. I'll admit it's aching like a son of a bitch, but that's to be expected. I'm fine, really. Now let me up and I'll get us some painkillers." 

After Blair removed his leg from his lap, Jim stood and went to the kitchen. Quickly filling two glasses with water, he reached for the painkillers, shaking four into his hand. He swallowed two himself, then handed the others to Blair, who had followed him with the dirty bowls. 

"Just leave them, we can wash them tomorrow." 

Blair looked shocked, freezing in the act of putting the bowls into the sink. "You sure your head's okay? I thought I heard you say leave the washing up, and that's so not you. I think I must have hit you harder than I thought." 

"Funny guy. Look, we're both tired and aching. I'll let it go for tonight. Just don't think I'll make a habit of it. Now get yourself to bed; I'm gonna lock up then go myself." 

Still with a shocked expression, Blair put down the bowls, then brushed past Jim to get to his room. Jim didn't know what to do as Blair walked away; he felt awkward and unsure, nothing like the confident detective of Major Crime. What was he supposed to do? Give Blair a kiss goodnight, a hug, or just walk away? He hadn't felt this unsure since his first date, when he agonised whether to kiss Alexa Fletcher after their date to the movies. His quandary ended when Blair stopped at the door of his room. Dressed in sweats and with damp clean hair, he looked nothing like the miserable man that had shuffled up to the loft forty-five minutes ago. He looked... well... like Blair, someone that he loved. With that realisation, Jim knew exactly what he had to do. Moving to Blair, he reached out and ran his hand down his face. When Blair didn't recoil from the touch, Jim leaned forward and gently kissed him on the lips. A small kiss, short and light, demonstrating no passion, but promising so much. 

And that was that -- one kiss, one small touch maybe lasting a few seconds. But at least now there was hope, where before there had been none. There were still issues to sort out, he knew that -- the Academy for one. Blair thought that he hadn't seen how the light in his eyes dimmed every time he talked about becoming a cop. In reality he had seen, and had let those defeated eyes fuel his anger. In fact, Jim still felt anger now -- irrational, sure, but he still thought that Blair would be a damn good detective, and he did want him as his partner. What he had to decide was... did he love him enough to let him go? 

"Well okay, goodnight then." 

Watching as Blair practically sleepwalked to his room, Jim felt conflicting emotions run through his soul -- anger, love, guilt, pride, fear, all focusing on that one man. Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time tonight he turned to the loft stairs. 

"Thanks man." 

Hearing the soft comment, Jim turned back and saw Blair still standing at his doorway. He looked asleep on his feet, eyes hooded and hands tucked into the baggy arms of his sweats. It was his smile that drew Jim in. It was small but obviously genuine. For the first time in months, Blair's eyes smiled also. God, how he'd missed that smile. Jim couldn't help responding with a huge grin, and simply stood looking at his friend for a few precious seconds. 

"Anytime Chief." 

Unable to break the gaze first, Jim watched as Blair turned away towards his bed. Only when he couldn't see his friend any longer did he finish walking upstairs. He was tired as well, and morning wasn't far away. He needed his rest, because he was sure that tomorrow would bring surprises for both men. 

* * *

End Punch and Pain by Terri: james.magee1@btinternet.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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